


You're Gonna Be the One that Saves Me

by SordidDetailsFollowing



Series: Spideypool One Shots [3]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anxiety, Drug Use, Drunk!Peter, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meet-Cute, Peter POV, Smut, attempted non-con (not graphic), college party, high!Peter, protective!wade, wade pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-11 00:36:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15303576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SordidDetailsFollowing/pseuds/SordidDetailsFollowing
Summary: Peter's having a rough time of it, and a few stupid decisions lead him somewhere entirely unexpected. It's a good thing a scarred, handsome stranger is there to catch him when he falls.





	1. It's Fun to Lose and to Pretend

**Author's Note:**

> Spideypool Prompt Bang 2018 entry! 
> 
> Prompt #41:  
> 
> 
> Work Title:  
> Wonderwall - Oasis  
> Chapter Titles:  
> Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nirvana
> 
> I had so much fun writing this and working with the incredible KingPreussen on this prompt!  
> Check out his **amazing** moodboard and playlist [HERE](https://neildavellir.tumblr.com/post/175925278352/prompt-41-youre-gonna-be-the-one-that-saves/embed).
> 
> Thanks to [Spideypoolfanfic](http://spideypoolfanfic.tumblr.com) for organizing and running this prompt bang!

Peter was drunk.

Correction: Peter was _very_ drunk.

He gasped as he stumbled into the edge of a table, sharp corner digging into the meat of his thigh. It would probably leave him with a purpling mark in the morning (because Peter bruised like an overripe peach), but he hardly felt it now. He braced one hand on the wooden surface, vaguely aware that he seemed to be getting something sticky on his palm, let himself lean heavily, for balance, and released a short, breathless laugh.

This was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?

He’d come out tonight with the express mission of getting fucked up. He was tired of sitting alone in his shitty little apartment, staring at half-written papers and trying not to think about the people he’d lost. The ones who died and the ones who left. Netflix failed to hold his attention for longer than a single episode of FRIENDS, and drowning his time in schoolwork wasn’t working as well this month as it had the last two. He needed a distraction.

He needed to relax.

Sitting around like a vibrating ball of nervous energy, chewing his bottom lip bloody and wanting to crawl out of his skin wasn’t something he could tolerate for another night. Aunt May had been trying to get him to go see someone about his anxiety for weeks, but Peter was hesitant to put himself in the hands of a professional. He didn’t want someone to prescribe him something and shove him off on the pharmaceutical companies; the idea of becoming reliant on drugs just to function normally made him a little sick to his stomach. And it hadn’t really been that long since the… the accident. He Just needed time to grieve. Process and move on. Sure, he wasn’t doing so well with that last bit but he had time. You couldn’t rush these things.

You could only make consciously bad decisions about going out to a party where you don’t know anyone with the intention of becoming intoxicated as hell and forgetting about your problems for a few hours. Making stupid mistakes was just part of the healing process, right?

Right. Which is why Peter didn’t hesitate to pluck another plastic shot cup of clear liquid off the tray on the table and knock it back like he knew what he was doing. He made a face, because it tasted like rubbing alcohol, and dropped the cup in the general vicinity of a black trash bag sitting on the floor. He swallowed around the burn in his throat and let his eyelids drop for a moment, heavy with the thick weight of drunkenness.

He was tingly all over in that numb, distant sort of way that he’d only experienced a couple of times in his life. His thoughts were vague and far away, sluggish enough that he couldn’t focus on much outside of the slow pulse of blood rushing through his ears. The music was loud, Kurt Cobain’s signature growl blaring from the speakers. The air was hot. 

Someone bumped into his shoulder as they slid past, jarring him from his drifting. He blinked his eyes open and peered around the crowded room. Everyone was talking or laughing or dancing or making out in the corner. But nobody was alone. Nobody but Peter.

He sighed, unable to stop the mild disappointment from seeping through the fog. At least he wasn’t anxious. Wasn’t thinking about Gwen’s twisted body as they pulled her from the car or the broken look in Harry’s eyes when he saw what he’d done. But he wasn’t exactly happy, either.

Maybe eating something would help. Peter pushed away from the table and made his way unsteadily towards the kitchen counter where bowls of chips were laid out. The world felt like it was tipping off center as he walked, and he stumbled into people a couple of times when he tried to adjust for the change in equilibrium. It was kind of funny, and he may have laughed just a little to himself.

When he finally reached the chips, he looked around helplessly for a plate, but saw none. Were people supposed to just dip their hands into the bowl? That was gross. But then again, this wasn’t exactly a _clean_ party. He was just about to say fuck it all and use his hands like an impolite toddler, but he heard someone shout his name.

“Hey, Peter!”

He looked up reflexively, though his sluggish brain reminded him that he was unlikely to know anyone here, so it was probably a different Peter. And sure enough, he didn’t see anyone he recognized. At first.

A large figure had pushed its way through the crowd and now stood beside him, nudging him enthusiastically in the arm. 

“Well if it isn’t little Peter Parker himself, at an _actual_ party. I guess miracles really do happen, huh?”

Peter tipped his head back to blink up at the jock who stood over him, state school letterman jacket a garish purple and gold under the bright kitchen lights. He was blond, smug, and unfortunately familiar.

“Flash Thompson.” Peter stated, the words a little heavy on his tongue. “You’re like, _not_ a person I’d expect to be seeing here.”

Only because he never expected to see Flash ever again after high school graduation. He went to Columbia to study biochemical engineering and Flash took off for State University New York on a football scholarship. As far as Peter was concerned, the high school bully was as good as dead to him.

Apparently he was seeing ghosts now.

Flash leaned one elbow on the counter and tipped his head slightly to the side, giving Peter an appraising once over, blue eyes slipping down and back up his body. His lips curled upwards into the approximation of a smirk. “I could say the same thing about you, Parker.”

Peter sighed dramatically, his eyes rolling up towards the ceiling. “Whatcha gonna do, Flash? Kick me outta your stupid party?” He had no idea whose party it was, actually. “Shove my head in a, in a toilet?” He laughed a little, though there was only superficial humor in his words. “Too bad there aren’t, uh, lockers here, right? Could probably still fit me in one o’ those… Those… Lockers. Like back when –”

He was silenced by a touch of fingertips to his mouth, the faint scent of beer and marijuana on Flash’s skin.

“You always did talk too much.” Peter stared at him, perplexed by Flash’s light, almost flirty tone and the way he was leaning in towards him, hot breath hitting Peter’s cheek.

“Huh?” He responded eloquently, and Flash chuckled as he dropped his hand.

“Never could get you to shut up. Guess that’s one of the things that bothered me about you.” He glanced downwards, gaze lingering on Peter’s mouth for a moment too long as he let out a self-deprecating breath of laughter. “That and my big gay crush on you.”

Peter was not convinced that he didn’t squeak in surprise. “What?”

“Oh yeah.” Flash was smirking again, and it took Peter a moment to realize that the jock’s hand had found its way onto his right hip. “Didn’t you ever wonder why I picked on you so hard?”

“I thought it was ‘cause of self-esteem issues and, y’know, masculine insecurity.” Peter had even less control over his mouth when he was drunk, and it seemed to move entirely without his permission, spewing out slightly slurred words with no regard for anyone. He half-expected to get punched for it, just like the good old days.

Flash just chuckled. “Naw… I liked you! You know how they say if a boy pushes you down on the playground, it means he likes you?”

“So…” Peter narrowed his eyes slightly, as if this development would make more sense if he squinted. “You were just… showing your affection through violence like a little kid?”

Flash rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Parker. The point is, I’m a changed man now.” He offered Peter a smile that he was sure most people would find charming. “I’m bein’ real with myself, doing guys and not just teasing them when I think they’re cute.” He gave Peter’s hip a squeeze.

“You didn’t tease me.” Peter let the counter take his weight as he leaned back against it, shaking his head in dazed denial. “You beat me up. Like. A lot.”

“Aw, come on now…” Flash shifted, placing himself in front of Peter and bracing his free hand on the countertop, leaning over him, caging him in. “We had fun! There was tension.” He rolled his hips down over Peter’s with a low hum, pinning him to the counter. “Sexy tension.”

Peter threw his head back and laughed. He felt warm and heavy and this was so _ridiculous_ that he couldn’t help but find it absolutely hilarious. 

“Oh… My god…” He managed to mutter between peals of laughter. “You’re so… Delusional…”

There as a small displeased sound and Flash pressed him harder into the counter, the sharp granite edge becoming uncomfortable where it dug into his back. “So you didn’t like me back.” He shrugged. “No biggie. But we’re both here now, aren’t we? I’m hot. You’re a cute little twink. Wanna have some fun?”

It was the cheesiest, grossest gay pickup line Peter had ever heard, and it took some effort to stifle a fresh wave of laughter. “Fun?”

“Yeah.” Flash bent down until his mouth hovered near Peter’s ear, breath tickling his earlobe as he spoke. “Aren’t you here to have fun?”

Peter blinked up at the eggshell ceiling, giving the question some serious thought. That was why he had come out tonight, wasn’t it? To get trashed and have a little fun, and maybe forget about everything for a few short hours. Granted, Flash Thompson was definitely not someone Peter had ever imagined having any sort of _fun_ with, but he was the only one offering at the moment. And at least he was ripped. (Peter could tell from the solid line of hard muscle pressed up against the front of his body.)

He shrugged lazily, already feeling the dull settle of shame and self-disappointment in the pit of his stomach. “Sure. Why not.”

Flash’s grin was undeniably lecherous when he pulled back to look at him. “Sick.” He reached up and ruffled Peter’s hair, ignoring the smaller man’s whine of protest. “Stay right here.”

He turned away, leaving Peter sagging against the counter while he walked to the drink table for a moment. He was gone just long enough for Peter to start questioning his own sanity, recognizing that he’d just agreed to something that he would _undoubtedly_ regret the next day. But Flash returned before he could convince himself to leave and stumble into an Uber (because there was no way he could get on the subway and not run the risk of killing himself or getting dangerously lost). 

“Here.” The blonde shoved a red solo cup into his hand, and Peter peered down at it. It was only filled up an inch or two with brown liquid, and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. 

“I don’t really like beer…” He mumbled.

“It’s whiskey.” Flash nudged the edge of the cup towards Peter’s mouth. “Go on, you’ll like it.”

Well, if he was going to play with fire he might as well jump into the hell-mouth and try to enjoy it, right? Peter tipped the cup back, downing the contents without giving himself much time to taste it.

He set the cup down, missing the counter and dropping it on the floor instead, and coughed. 

Flash clapped him on the back. “Atta boy.”


	2. With the Lights Out, It's Less Dangerous

Wade was not having fun.

This wasn’t his usual scene, with the college students and the alcohol and all the _people_. There were definitely too many people. He had been pressed into a corner for at least ten minutes, just watching and hoping that the shadow of the stairs on his left was dark enough to hide his face from all the wandering eyes. Although, to be fair, most of these kids were probably so fucked up they wouldn’t even notice unless they were right in front of him. 

His eyes tracked his only friend as he weaved through the crowd, making his way back from the kitchen with a drink in each hand. Wade’s exasperated sigh was wasted on himself, but he made sure to shoot Weasel a nasty look when the greasy-haired man finally slipped into the empty space beside him.

A tiny version of a red-solo cup was held out to him, containing a shot of something clear that certainly wasn’t tonic water. Wade stared at it for a second before raising his flat glare to Weasel’s glazed over eyes. The younger man nudged his arms where they were crossed defensively over Wade’s chest, mouthing words that were muffled beneath the pounding music.

He leaned down to yell into Weasel’s ear. “You know I don’t fuckin’ drink, man.”

“You should!” Was the bartender’s only response, but he easily knocked back Wade’s drink _and_ his own, well-accustomed to his friend’s quirks by now. “And loosen up.” He shouted over the angsty 90’s rock blasting from the speakers. “You look like a cop or some shit.”

Wade grunted in annoyance, but begrudgingly unfolded his arms and stuck his hands in his hoodie pocket instead. “Don’t know why you made me come to this shit party.” He griped, eyes scanning the mass of writhing, stumbling bodies spread out before him.

“What?” Weasel inclined his head, gesturing towards his ear with one empty cup.

“I’m the oldest person here!” Wade raised his voice. “It’s weird.”

“It’s only weird if you make it weird, dude!” Weasel spit on Wade’s chin when he craned his neck up to yell at him, and Wade shot him an affronted look as he wiped it off with his shoulder. “You should relax. Learn to loosen the fuck up.”

Yeah, because that was easy to do when you were ex special forces who still worked in security _and_ had diagnosable PTSD. A fucking breeze. Like learning the electric slide. But Wade didn’t bother to argue with the intoxicated mess that dragged him here. Mostly just because he was tired of straining his voice to be heard. 

“Look!” Weasel stumbled slightly as he leaned in close again, reaching out to brace himself on Wade’s sturdy bicep. “ _Some_ people know how to have a good time.” He was nodding towards the kitchen, and Wade followed his gaze to the subject of his friend’s attention. His breath caught unwillingly in his throat.

The most beautiful boy in the _world_ was there, tilting his head back and laughing from between pink, parted lips. His pale cheeks were flushed with color and his warm brown eyes shone through the dim light, reaching into Wade’s chest and squeezing the air right out of him. He had hair like a wet dream, gorgeous chestnut locks sticking every which way in a fucked-out mess, and his back arched prettily where he was pressed against the kitchen counter.

Where he was pressed against the kitchen counter by a tall hunk of a guy with Aryan features and perfect skin. He had his hips pressed flush against the brunette’s, pinning him in place as he leaned over him, telegraphing his intentions loud and clear.

“Lucky bastard.” Weasel was still yelling in his ear, voice hoarse with use and the burn of alcohol. “Built like a Greek fucking god. And that _hair_ … Didn’t you used to have hair like that? Luscious blond locks like Chris Hemsworth.”

Wade shook his head distractedly, watching as jock boy bent down to murmur something in the angel’s ear. “No, man. My hair was brown.”

“Oh. Well at least you still have the baby blues!”

He didn’t spare the energy it would take to shoot Weasel another ineffective glare, too focused on the way those gorgeous doe eyes glazed over as they stared up at the ceiling. After a moment, the kid said something that made Blondy straighten up with a grin and reach out to ruffle his pretty hair. The boy made a face at that, clearly displeased, and Wade found himself scowling.

Those soft brown tresses were made for fingers to run through, not upset with careless swipes. They were made for soft caresses. Or the gentle grip of fists, tugging just enough to pull his head back and expose the pale column of his throat…

Fuck.

The hunky jock stepped away, leaving the smaller boy leaning heavily against the counter, his cheeks all flushed and hair an even bigger mess than before. Wade forced his gaze to follow the other one, not wanting to encourage his imagination any further. 

As he watched, the blond stopped at the drink table and poured some diluted whiskey (yuck) into a cup, then dug a hand into his front jeans pocket and pulled out something Wade couldn’t see. 

He fiddled with it for a moment, back turned to the pretty boy, and then dropped something small and white into the cup he’d prepared. He swiped the cup off the table and was walking back towards the counter, other hand shoving briefly into his pocket again, before Wade realized what it was that he just saw.

“Son of a bitch.” Wade muttered, voice a low rumble beneath the blare of the speakers. He pushed off the wall where he’d been leaning and stepped towards the kitchen. 

Weasel grabbed onto his arm. “Where you goin’, Wade?”

He shook off the pitiful grip and shoved his way through the crowd, not bothering to respond to any of the annoyed exclamations he received from the intoxicated students. No one insisted on badgering him for his rudeness; not once they glanced up and caught sight of his face.

It didn’t take long to get to the only well-lit room in the house, but he was still a couple of yards away when the brunette tipped the cup to his lips and downed the entirety of its contents. The back of Wade’s tongue flooded with the bitter taste of disappointment and rage as he watched it happen.

Rape-culture-blondy was grinning, and he had the audacity to pat the boy he’d just _drugged_ on the back, as if rewarding him for a job well done. 

Wade was on him before he’d really decided to move, grabbing the jock by the front of his stupid football jacket and yanking him away from the brunette. The guy was big, tall and muscular like the picture-perfect athlete, but Wade was bigger. It was easy to shove him up against the refrigerator, magnets falling and contents rattling with the force of the impact. 

“What the fuck did you give him?” He asked, the words spoken on a rough growl of pure intimidation. 

“What? What the fuck!” The kid was clearly caught off guard and affronted by the rough handling, but when he got a good look at Wade’s face, the blue of his eyes shone bright as his pupils shrank to pinpoints, tinged with fear.

Wade was used to it. He tightened his grip on the guy’s jacket, quality fabric fisted messily between his fingers, and jerked him forward only to slam him back against the stainless-steel fridge again. He watched his pretty head bounce off the surface and the kid winced. 

“I said.” Wade repeated himself, low and dangerous. “What did you put in that boy’s drink?”

“Flash?” A soft, sweet voice spoke from Wade’s left, and he glanced over to see that the beautiful brunette had crept his way along the counter to their side, one hand clutching the granite surface for support. He looked perplexed, his brown Bambi eyes wide with concern and the pink of his bottom lip flushed red where it looked like he’d bitten it.

“N-Nothing! I didn’t – Peter I didn’t put shit in your drink.” The Flash guy struggled against his hold, nails digging into the sensitive flesh of Wade’s wrists, but he couldn’t move an inch. “This freak is just flipping his shit over nothing!”

Wade’s left hand twitched with the urge to reach for his hip, but he’d left his guns at home tonight. And besides, this was just a dumb kid at a party. Wade had to remind himself that this situation didn’t really warrant the use of extreme force, even if he did want to shove the barrel of his Sig down this asshole’s throat and make him choke on it.

Wade didn’t bother with a retort, aware that they had drawn quite a bit of a crowd and he should end the altercation as quickly as possible, if only because he hated to be stared at by so many people at once. He raised one hand to Flash’s throat, holding him securely against the fridge without cutting off his air supply, and released his jacket to dig his other hand into the front of the jock’s pants.

Flash made a small sound of protest but didn’t speak, his pulse pounding fast and hard beneath Wade’s palm. 

“Believe me, I’d rather not.” Wade muttered disdainfully, fingers snagging the edge of a small plastic baggie and pulling it out of Flash’s pocket. He held it up, and there was a murmured chorus of surprise from the people nearest them when the light caught on a small collection of little white tablets held in the bag.

“What is this?” He demanded, rage burning hot in the tightness of his voice and the flex of his fingers around the boy’s neck.

Flash’s eyes were wide with undisguisable panic, and they flickered anxiously back and forth across the room, as if looking for an escape that didn’t exist. “You a cop or something?”

Wade bared his teeth. “Or something.” 

His Adam’s apple bobbed against Wade’s palm as he swallowed. “It… It was nothing! Just something to get him to relax. Make him feel good. He wouldn’t mind!”

Wade turned to the kid who stood beside them. Flash had called him Peter (and what a nice name it was for him, pretty and innocent and sweet). He was staring at the bag in Wade’s hand with disgust, but he didn’t seem particularly surprised. More just… Disappointed.

“You knew he put something in your drink?” Wade asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Peter shook his head no, lips pressed together in a thin, distressed line. 

Wade had known it, but it didn’t make him any less angry to hear it confirmed. He turned back to Flash and shoved the bag of pills in his face. “What are they?”

“It’s just X, man!” He said it like it was no big deal. Like MDMA was as harmless as slipping someone an ibuprofen tablet. 

He leaned in close to Flash’s face, watched the discomfort and fear flicker through his eyes. “I should shove all these pills down your throat and see how you like it.” He murmured, low and dangerous. “There’s at least six left. Think you could get to the hospital before you overdose?”

There was real panic in Flash’s sky-blue eyes now, and he was trembling beneath Wade’s grip. Wade was used to frightening people; just a glimpse of his mutilated skin was enough to make most people jumpy. But it was rare these days that he got to relish in the intimidation like this. He let it fester for a couple more seconds, listening to the jock’s hitching, labored breaths over the background noise of laughter and yelling and all that loud music. Then he leaned back, shoving the pills out of sight in his jeans pocket.

“You pull this shit again and I guarantee you won’t even make it jail.” Wade waited for a tiny nod of affirmation from the kid, and let his hand drop, releasing him.

Before Flash could move away from the refrigerator, Peter darted forward from the sidelines and punched him in the nose.

It was a solid blow, snapping Flash’s head back with the force of it even though he was several inches taller and probably twice as wide as the smaller boy. 

“Ah, fuck!” Flash grunted, raising a hand to his face. It wasn’t bleeding but it would certainly bruise.

“You’re an asshole!” Peter didn’t look very steady on his feet, but he was a vision in righteous fury. He looked like a vicious little kitten, eyes shiny and cheeks flushed an angry pink. “You never change. You… You assholes. You never change.”

“Whatever.” Flash muttered, resentful gaze flickering back to Wade before landing on Peter again. “I didn’t really want to sleep with you anyway.”

Peter kicked Flash in the balls.

Wade couldn’t stop himself from grinning as he watched the jock double over, his face twisted in pain as he grabbed his crotch protectively and clenched his jaw to keep his pitiful whine of pain inside.

The kick had knocked Peter off balance, and he staggered from the momentum. Wade reached out to steady him without thinking, his hands landing on two modest, but finely defined biceps.

“Asshole!” Peter spit again, letting Wade guide him back a couple of steps just in case Flash tried to retaliate despite the presence of Wade’s six foot four, 250 pounds of solid muscle acting as a deterrent.

The brunette was clearly quite intoxicated, but Wade couldn’t find it in himself to see it as anything but kind of really fucking cute.

“Come on.” He suggested, using his gentle hold on Peter’s arms to direct him towards the back door and doing his best to ignore the dozens of eyes still trained on the two of them. He let Peter out first, catching the screen door when it fell carelessly towards his face and following the boy out onto the back porch. 

It was pretty late, and the full moon shone bright in the sky, but the yard was crowded with overflow from the party. People stood around with drinks, talking and making out and being generally rowdy. They were illuminated by the back porchlight, and Wade fought the urge to cringe when Peter turned to blink up at his face.

He waited for shock or disgust to flicker through those pretty chocolate eyes, but it never came. Peter just offered him a shy smile and ruffled the back of his hair with one hand. “Thanks. For uh… Y’know. That.” 

Wade nodded. “No problem.” He shrugged awkwardly. “Sorry that he did that to you.”

Peter shrugged too, glancing down at the ground. “I shoulda known. I mean, I never should’ve agreed to… I was really stupid.”

“Hey.” He frowned, reaching out to tap Peter on the chin, bringing his gaze back up to meet his. “It’s not your fault, okay? Not even a little bit. It’s never fucking okay to drug someone without their express permission.” He could feel the anger stirring in his stomach all over again, and he had half a mind to turn back around and beat the shit out of this Flash guy. “Hell, he’s damn lucky I let him off as easy as I did.” 

Peter just blinked at him again, his cheeks flushing a slightly darker color than before. “Yeah…” He breathed. He looked kind of dazed.

Wade frowned in concern. “How you feelin’?” Ecstasy didn’t usually kick in for a good half hour or so, but maybe he’d been given a contaminated dose or something.

“Um…” He glanced away, brow furrowing slightly in thought as he considered the question. “I feel… Kinda warm. And like, numb, you know. Light and like… Everything is moving kinda slowly.”

He was slurring his words quite adorably, and Wade fought back a smile, internally giddy over how fuckin’ cute this kid was. “You’re drunk.”

Peter looked at him as if he’d discovered something important. “Right. That’s what this is. Yeah.”

“Very drunk.” Wade reiterated kindly. “So where are your friends? Did you come here with anyone?” He wanted to make sure Peter got home safely, and he really ought to have someone look after him when the ecstasy started taking effect. 

That pretty face turned melancholy as the brunette rolled his eyes, a hollow, joyless laugh falling from his lips. “All my friends are dead. Or totally avoiding me.” 

Wade stared for a moment, stunned into silence. Because… Shit. “Oh, I… I’m sorry.”

Peter blinked at him, and after a second his eyes widened in evident horror. “Oh, fuck! I totally, just like, ruined our conversation!”

“No… You didn’t.” Wade insisted with a frown.

“I did.” His mouth pursed in disappointment, beautiful eyes unfocused with sadness and distress. He reached up to tangle both hands in his wild hair. “I always fucking do this. I’m not _supposed_ to bring up tragic shit when I’m talking to hot guys what the _fuck_.”

If Wade hadn’t been shocked before, he certainly was now.

Before he could pursue the unexpected revelation that this gorgeous mess thought _he_ , Wade Winston Wilson, burn-victim Freddie Krueger look alike, was _hot_ , some idiot decided to punch him in the arm and interrupt their moment.

“Dude, what the fuck was that?” Weasel glared at him, hardly sparing an appraising glance in Peter’s direction. “You want someone to call the cops on you?”

Wade had never wanted to punch Weasel in the face more than he did in that moment. “I didn’t even want to come here in the first place.” He reminded his friend through gritted teeth.

Weasel ignored him, as per usual. “You always have to pull this shit. Playing at the hero like you didn’t get enough of that in the fuckin’ desert.”

Peter was looking distinctly more distressed with every word that left Weasel’s mouth, and Wade was not having that. He grabbed the bartender by the front of his shirt and easily moved him away. “Leave it, Weas. Go back inside and enjoy your college party like the overaged creep you are. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The greasy-haired man glanced over Wade’s shoulder, giving Peter a second look. “You gonna take that kid home?” He asked bluntly.

“ _No_.” Wade huffed out an emphatic sigh, his cheeks feeling a little warm beneath the ache of his scars. “I’m just gonna make sure he gets home alright. That’s all.”

But a lecherous grin was already spreading across Weasel’s face. “Hot damn. Wade finally found himself a little treat, didn’t he?” He wouldn’t stop staring at Peter, and Wade shoved him back, mortified. “Didn’t think you were into the young ones, but man… you sure know how to pick ‘em. Me _ow_.”

“Get the fuck outta my face.” Wade grumbled, not backing off until Weasel turned away, shaking his head with laughter as he made his way back into the house.

Wade turned back to Peter, sheepishly embarrassed by the inappropriate display Weasel had just put on. He was ready for the disgust now, maybe even pity if Peter was as nice as he seemed. Because the suggestion of Wade taking an interest when he looked… Well, how he looked, was surely enough to gross anyone out. 

But Peter just looked at him with those glazed over doe eyes and seemed a little out of it, like he hadn’t even registered the interaction. Well, it was a bit of a lucky break and Wade wasn’t going to complain. 

“You, uh… Got a ride home?” He asked, moving back to Peter’s side so he would be close enough to steady him if he lost his balance again.

Peter shook his head. “I was gonna take the… Uber. I was gonna call an Uber car.”

He nodded in agreement. “Do you live close?”

“Like… Twenty minutes maybe? I dunno. I took the subway and it was… lots of stops.”

So it was too far for him to make it back before the drugs started to kick in, and Wade didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone in a car with a stranger when that happened. He didn’t want to sound like a creep or force his company on anyone, but this kid was all alone…

“Would you mind if I, um, accompanied you home?” He raised one hand to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck, realizing with a flash of embarrassment that he sounded like he was asking Peter on some lame fifties date.

But Peter just gazed at him all out of it, his face looking a little flushed again. “I think I’d like that.” He murmured.

Wade blinked at him, his lips parting in surprise. There was something warm and nice settling in the pit of his stomach, but he did his best to ignore it. “Well… Great, then. Do you wanna call a car?”

Peter nodded, fumbling to dig his phone out of his pocket. It took him a couple of attempts to unlock it, and when he did he stared forlornly at his screen for a few seconds before turning his heart-melting gaze on Wade. “I don’t have the app. Should I download it? Is it free?”

“Yeah it’s free.” Wade smiled, tempted to ruffle the kid’s hair. But then he remembered watching Flash do that, putting his filthy hands all over Peter, and he felt a little sick. “But don’t worry.” He pulled his own phone out, quickly navigating to the app. “I’ll do it.”

“Oh.” Peter smiled at him, and it was beautiful. “Thanks.”

Wade cleared his throat. “No problem. What’s your address?”

“It’s on North Michigan.”

“Where on Michigan?” He asked without looking up from his screen.

“By the Village Pantry.”

Wade chuckled a little, his smile indulgent as he glanced back at Peter’s sweet face. “You got a building number, Petey?”

His eyes seemed to widen a bit, and something in Wade’s stomach _tugged_ when he watched Peter pull his bottom lip between his teeth. “Um… Fuck. It’s… It’s… An apartment building.” He looked flustered, eyes skimming over the backyard as he tried to remember. “I could tell you exactly how to get there from the Kenneth Drive stop on the D train.”

Wade nodded easily, not wanting Peter to feel bad for not remembering. “That’s fine. I’ll put that intersection in and you can tell the driver how to get to your place from there, okay?”

Peter nodded back, looking relieved. “Yeah. Okay.”

Wade entered the location into his phone and tapped on the closest car. It was an Uber Select, which hiked the price up quite a bit, but Wade didn’t mind. It’s not like he had to worry about money after the generous retirement settlement he got from the government two years ago.

“Let’s wait out front.” He suggested. “The car should be here in about eight minutes.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Peter stated. Wade hovered at his side as they started to pick their way around the house (which seemed preferable to fighting their way through the crowds inside). It was a good thing he did, because Peter only made it a few steps before tripping on some uneven ground. He clutched onto Wade’s arm, catching himself before he fell, and giggled.

“Oops… Guess I’m pretty wasted.” He slurred apologetically.

“Don’t worry about it.” Wade cleared his throat, keeping his gaze ahead so he wouldn’t stare uncomprehendingly at the place where Peter continued to hold onto him, looping his arm around Wade’s elbow as they kept walking.

It was much calmer at the front of the house, just a few people sitting on the porch smoking cigarettes and talking beneath the distant thump of music in the house. Every once in a while the front door would open, letting out a burst of noise as someone entered or exited. Wade led Peter to the sidewalk. The street was crowded with parked cars, but he figured it would be easy enough to see when their Uber arrived.

“So, uh…” He felt like he should make some effort at conversation, especially since Peter was still holding onto his arm and Wade was acutely aware of the warm line of his body standing in such close proximity, as if he _trusted_ Wade or something. And that was probably just because he was drunk and Wade had ‘saved’ him from a potential date rape and he really should have a discussion with Sober Peter about trusting complete strangers but right now he just wanted to make sure he stayed comfortable. “How’d you end up at this party?”

Peter shrugged, his shoulder brushing Wade’s bicep. “Oh, you know… Got tired of being alone and miserable so I thought, like, why don’t I get drunk and make some bad decisions?” He let out another soft, hollow huff of laughter. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” He mumbled.

Wade hummed in acknowledgement, fighting off a frown as his eyes scanned the street. “Hey, it’s not the stupidest thing you could’ve done. Believe me.” Not half as bad as some of the shit Wade had pulled since Afghanistan. 

There was silence for a few moments before Peter sagged against Wade’s side with a groan of frustration. Wade looked down at him, alarmed, as he pressed his face into the sleeve of Wade’s hoodie as if he were trying to hide. 

“I did it again, didn’t I?” He mumbled into the fabric, the movement of his mouth sending hot chills across Wade’s skin. “I always talk about depressing stuff when I should be having fun.”

Wade blinked at him, pushing aside the warm anticipation stirring in his stomach. “I don’t mind.” He reassured him, because he didn’t really. Everyone had shit they were dealing with, and Wade was more accustomed than most to tragedy and pain and all that good stuff. And yeah, it was shitty and selfish, but sometimes it was nice to be reminded that he wasn’t alone in his dark little corner of the world where nothing made sense and he couldn’t fall asleep without a Sig Sauer under his pillow.

Yeah, no. He was still more fucked up than Peter or anyone else he would ever meet.

“Besides.” He continued, jostling Peter with a friendly shake of his arm. “You can’t be expected to have fun with a complete stranger.”

The brunette pulled himself off Wade’s arm long enough to look up at him with wide, horrified eyes. “Oh, shit! I never even asked you your name!” He seemed disproportionally upset but this revelation, and Wade fought not to smile as he stumbled over the words. “Sorry. What is it? I mean, what’s your name?”

“Wade Wilson.” He held his free hand out for Peter to shake. He was currently clutching Wade’s forearm with the correct hand, so he ended up awkwardly taking the proffered hand with his left, and just sort of holding it instead of shaking it.

“Nice to meet you.” He stated seriously.

Wade suppressed a shiver. “You too, Peter. I’m sorry it was under such shitty circumstances.”

Peter nodded in agreement, and didn’t seem to notice that he was still holding Wade’s hand.

His ungloved hand. Shit. He carefully shook off Peter’s grip and tucked his hand back into his hoodie pocket, hoping that the kid was too drunk to notice the gross texture of his scars. 

“So how old are you anyway?” He asked the first question that came to mind, hoping to distract from any awkwardness that might linger between them. “Am I gonna have to call your mom and let her know you’re gonna miss your curfew?” He flashed a grin to show he was joking, because he doubted Peter was that young. He fucking _hoped_ Peter wasn’t that young, because he looked like sex on legs and Wade really didn’t want to find out he’d been lusting after a teenager…

“I don’t have a mom.” Peter blinked up at him, then immediately cursed. “Fuck.” He shook his head self-deprecatingly. “I can’t stop spouting sad shit, can I?” He sighed. “I _meant_ … I’m twenty-two.”

“Oh, good.” Old enough to drink legally, at least. “I mean, uh… Good that you’re an adult. Not, um, good about…”

Peter laughed, and the sound was so pure and bright that it made Wade stare. “I know.” He squeezed around Wade’s arm, leaning his head against his bicep again, and Wade’s mouth felt dry. “Everyone tells me I look kinda young. I hate it.” He mumbled the last sentence petulantly, and something in the back of Wade’s mind whispered that maybe it was _hot_ how young he looked…

But that was a Bad Thought, and Wade tried to ignore it. He had lots of Bad Thoughts, and it was a constant struggle not to indulge them, but he would try his fucking hardest tonight, because Peter was too sweet and pretty to ever associate with a fuck up like Wade.

He knew he shouldn’t have come tonight. He was more suited to shithole bars than college parties, even if he couldn’t drink without getting angry and violent and delusional. Especially because of that. He belonged in a locked room, not creeping on kids almost a decade younger than him.

Except that if he hadn’t been here tonight, that asshole would have drugged Peter and taken advantage of him. So maybe he had a role to play after all.

He realized that the time for him to respond to Peter had come and gone a while ago, and now they were just standing in silence. It wasn’t too uncomfortable, though, and he was sure Peter must be feeling pretty tired as he metabolized all that alcohol, so he kept his mouth shut for now. The sounds of the party still filtered out behind them, but the rest of the street was dark and quiet and he could even see a couple of stars in the sky.

Okay, maybe they were planes, but it still wasn’t a terrible night altogether.

It wasn’t long before their car showed up, pulling up beside the line of parked cars and putting their hazard lights on. It was a nice black BMW, and when the driver (Sven, according to Wade’s app) got out to open the back door for them, Wade noticed that the seats inside were leather.

Peter was forced to release his arm when Wade helped him into his seat, sliding across to the opposite window in a cute, uncoordinated shuffle. Wade folded himself in afterwards, pulling the door shut behind him. The car was spacious, but even so his head was brushing the ceiling unless he slumped down a bit.

Their driver was pulling away a few moments later, and Wade glanced over to make sure Peter was wearing his seatbelt. He was. Wade didn’t bother with his because it was always a hassle to make the effort when he was crammed in the backseat of a car and to be perfectly honest, he’d cheated death so many times that it felt unfair if he didn’t at least leave her a little wiggle room to work with. 

Peter was leaning his head back against the headrest, eyes closed. His lips were pressed tight together, and there was a small crease between his perfect eyebrows. 

“You feelin’ alright?” He reached over to tap Peter on the arm, not wanting the kid to pass out on him. 

“Hm?” He blinked his eyes open and peered across the backseat. “Yeah. Just a little sick… to my stomach.” 

Wade nodded. “Tell me if you feel like you’re gonna puke, okay?” He glanced up, meeting Sven’s worried gaze in the rearview mirror. “We’ll pull the car over for you.”

“’Kay.” Peter shifted in his seat, leaning his cheek against the cool glass of the car window. “I don’t think I will.”

“That’s good.” He watched the boy closely, unable to stop himself from noticing how some of the dark hairs at the back of Peter’s neck were starting to stick to his skin. It wasn’t too warm out, but he was wearing a red zip-up over his t-shirt so maybe he had too many layers on.

Maybe Wade should try to distract him from feeling sick. He was good at distracting people.

“Wanna hear a funny story?” He had plenty.

Peter blinked up at him again, looking a little more alert this time, and nodded as he sat up. “Yeah. That’d be good.”

He didn’t hesitate to let his mouth start running. He could just let it go on autopilot and Peter probably wouldn’t remember half of what he said in the morning. “So this one time, me and my squad were stopping over in Rhode Island on our way out, and we had about twelve hours leave before the morning flight. So, it’s fucking Providence and most of the guys just wanna find a sports bar to get trashed at, but I’m like no fucking way. If we don’t find a quality gay club then this is a wasted opportunity. I manage to get Cable on board and everyone listens to him, so we end up at this amazing club called The Mega-Plex. We get there and have a few drinks, and most of us are in uniform so the guys have like a million hot gay boys flirting with them. And when we finally get a good buzz going and start moving to the dance floor, we find out that it’s not just a club, it’s a _sauna_. And I don’t know if you know about gay saunas, but they’re basically these magical places where hookups and orgies happen. So I manage to get Cable out of his clothes and into one of their little rental speedos and lemme tell you, I’d pay for backstage passes to that show any fucking day of the year. And when we get back to the steam rooms, there’s all these – Hey, are you cold?”

Peter had started to shiver, noticeable tremors shaking his shoulders as he pressed his hands between his legs and bit his bottom lip to keep his teeth from chattering.

He nodded, and before Wade could do anything he was unclasping his seatbelt with a click and sliding across the backseat to plaster himself against Wade’s side.

His breath caught in his throat as he felt the hot line of Peter’s body touching his from knee to bicep. Completely unaware of the effect he was having, the brunette lifted Wade’s arm to sling across his shoulders and tucked one skinny ankle under Wade’s calf, effectively tangling them together. 

“That’s better.” He breathed with another little shudder, and Wade’s stomach clenched. “Keep going?”

He cleared his throat, frantically trying to drag the strings of his scattered thoughts back together so he could at least remember what he was talking about. “Right. Um… So…” Oh yeah, gay orgies. Perfect topic choice. “So, well, most of the guys were pretty drunk by then. And um, a few of them follow us in. And they’re joking about giving Cable a hand. You know, giving him a hand? Because he has this prosthetic arm and… Anyway, there’s someone getting a blowjob in the corner of the room and there are a few naked guys just like, hangin’ out, and they come over ‘cause we’re being real obnoxious, and um… Uh… Then…”

Peter was stroking his leg. He had his hand on Wade’s thigh and he was running his fingers slowly up and down from his knee to his hip.

It was very, _very_ distracting.

Ignoring the warmth in his cheeks and the twist of arousal in his gut, Wade glanced out the window and tried to finish his story. Because he was absolutely not going to let himself get hard right now. Absolutely not.

“So, uh, then one of the naked babes asks if we’re tourists, and the boys all accuse me of dragging them there. So naked stranger guy says he’ll give me five dollars to make out with him and that’s how I end up, um - oh!” He cut off with an undignified squeak, because Peter’s hand had slipped towards the sensitive line of his inner thigh and Wade was definitely getting hard right now.

“Watcha doin’ Peter?” He tried to subtly shift his leg away, all the while distinctly aware of the way Peter was burying his face in Wade’s pec, his fingers swiping sensually over the fabric on his knee and back up again. 

“Feels good.” He mumbled into Wade’s chest. “You feel good.”

And fuck. _Fuck_. Those words went straight to Wade’s dick and they really shouldn’t because this was clearly just the drugs talking and Peter didn’t really want him and he couldn’t take advantage and Sven was watching them surreptitiously in the rearview mirror.

“Right.” He managed, voice tight and high with nerves and restraint. “And um, how are you feeling, Pete?”

“Great.” He sat up a little, raising his head so he could look at Wade. “I feel so good. Maybe I just burned everything off really fast because I feel, like, perfect now.” His eyes were wide and glassy, pupils blown, and he was looking at Wade like he wanted to eat him.

“Yeah…” Wade swallowed. It was hard to think over the pounding of his pulse in his ears. “You’re high as fuck, sweetie.” 

Peter’s hair was sticking to his forehead, dark strands damp against his skin, and Wade reached up with his free hand to brush the locks back, trying to clear his face so maybe he could cool off a little.

As his fingers brushed skin, pushing back into his hairline, Peter leaned into the touch and _moaned_. Suddenly Wade had his fingers tangled in thick brown hair, his palm cradling the back of Peter’s head, and the huff of Peter’s breath was hot and damp against his collar.

Then Peter was _climbing into his lap_ , swinging one leg over his thighs and settling warm and heavy atop his hips. He was running his hands down Wade’s shoulders before the bigger man knew what was going on, shifting around as he felt down the back of Wade’s arms and tucked his face into that spot where neck met shoulder.

Wade suddenly had a lapful of squirming pretty boy and he was aching in his jeans, as hard as he’d ever been in his life. And this was very, very bad.

“Peter…” He placed a restraining hand on the boy’s waist, trying to push him back a little so there were at least a couple of inches for Jesus. But as soon as he touched him, Peter gasped. His head fell back, exposing the pale line of his throat, and his lips parted to reveal the slightest flash of teeth and the dark velvet pink of his tongue just visible in the dim light of the car. His eyes had fluttered shut as he pushed into Wade’s touch, cheeks flushed.

And suddenly Wade felt _drunk_. Because he looked… He looked so… 

Wrecked.

“Pete, honey, you don’t wanna do this…” The words came with great effort, pushed past the tightness of his throat, and they didn’t sound nearly as firm as he’d intended them to be. He sounded like he was pleading for something.

Peter’s eyes slit open and he peered at Wade from beneath his full dark lashes. 

“I do.” He breathed, and the sound of his voice so soft and heated like that made Wade’s spine crawl in the best fucking way. “I want you to touch me.” He slid his fingers down Wade’s arm until he could grip one scarred wrist and guide Wade’s hand beneath the edge of his t-shirt. Wade felt smooth, _hot_ skin stretched tight over Peter’s stomach, and bit back a moan.

“You’re burning up.” He managed, voice hoarse. 

Peter just nodded, his diaphragm heaving in short, hard breaths as he slid Wade’s palm up over his abs. Wade watched, dazed, as the soft blue fabric hiked up over his wrist, revealing pale glowing perfection and the sexiest fucking belly button he’d ever seen. He stretched his fingers wide, following the line of his ribcage, and Peter whined in the back of his throat. 

The car jolted to a halt, throwing them forward as their driver slammed on the breaks, and Wade threw his other arm around Peter’s waist to keep him from falling, inadvertently clutching him closer.

“We’re here.” Sven stated loudly. He sounded annoyed. 

“Fuck.” The sudden stop had managed to clear Wade’s head a bit, and he gently disentangled his hand from Peter’s grip only to hook it under his thigh and dump him in the next seat over where he landed with a yelp.

“We’re not quite there yet.” He told the driver, turning to face Peter as best he could. “Tell him how to get to your place, Petey.”

“This isn’t a taxi!” Sven protested as Peter whined in disbelief.

“I don’t wanna go home!” He complained.

“It’s a fancy taxi.” Wade snapped, then sighed, resisting the urge to pinch the crown of his nose and shake his head. Or push down on his protesting cock to relieve some of the pressure. “Fine. Here.” He lifted his hips to laboriously dig his wallet out of his back pocket, brushing off Peter’s hand when he started to slide it up his thigh again. He slipped out a hundred-dollar bill and handed it up to Sven. “That should cover the few extra blocks.”

He turned back to the handsy little minx beside him. “Now focus, baby. How do we get to your building from here?”

But Peter wasn’t having trouble focusing. He was just being stubborn as hell. He shook his head, reaching out to run his hand down Wade’s hoodie-covered bicep. “I don’t. Want. To go home.” He stated emphatically, like Wade needed reminding. “I want.” He leaned in quickly, catching Wade’s earlobe between his teeth and nipping it nice and sharp. “To have fun.”

He couldn’t stop the groan from crawling up his throat, low and tortured. Because he’d been tortured. He’d been tortured for weeks and blown up and left for dead and this was worse. This was much worse.

“There will be no sex in my car.” Sven muttered venomously from the front seat.

Wade dug out his wallet again and handed their poor driver another fifty. “Fine.” He grunted, reaching the end of his patience. “Just take us to two forty-five East fortieth street. It’s the Murray Hill Tower.”

Sven typed it into his GPS and nodded his assent, peeling away from the curb and back into the steady stream of traffic. It was only a seven-minute drive at this time of night, so he wasn’t going much out of his way for an extra hundred and fifty bucks.

“You takin’ me to your place?” Peter’s lips tickled Wade’s jaw as he spoke, low and sweet into his ear, and there was no way to hide the shiver that worked its way up his back.

“Sure, Pete.” He planted one hand on the boy’s collar and pushed him firmly back into the middle seat, then used his other hand to pull the seatbelt out and buckle it around him. “You just stay there until we arrive, okay? We can’t have you flailing about back here.”

Peter made an exasperated sound but managed to stay put. He did not, however, keep his hands to himself. He kept trailing his fingers up and down Wade’s leg, and playing with the edge of his sweatshirt. And when he tried to work his fingers under the thick fabric and Wade caught his hand and pushed it away before he could feel the uneven texture of his skin, Peter just sighed longingly and started touching _himself_. 

He slid his hands over his legs and up his hips, caressing his sides as he tipped his head back and licked his lips. And even though Wade felt like he was _dying_ , he couldn’t stop staring as Peter stroked over the line of his collar bone, letting out these soft little sounds as he craned his head from side to side and scraped his nails over the column of his throat.

It was like the hottest, most painful private show Wade had ever been witness to. 

When the car finally pulled into the covered drive at the front of Wade’s building, Peter didn’t hesitate to unbuckle his seat belt and practically lunge for Wade. He used all the speed and dexterity in his arsenal to open the door and slip out of the car before the boy could touch him. 

“Thanks for the ride.” He called out to Sven, pushing the door shut as soon as Peter had slid out after him. He was distracted making sure his clingy cargo could stand on his own two feet, but he didn’t miss the urgency with which their Uber peeled away from the curb and sped off, as if Sven feared they might climb back in and fuck on his flawless leather seats.

Peter didn’t look like he was going to fall over, although he did clutch gratuitously onto Wade’s arm as they made their way into the building. The lighting in the lobby was quite bright, but Peter peered around with wide open eyes, rapidly absorbing every detail.

“This is nice.” He commented. “Like, really really nice.” He looked up at Wade’s profile. “Holy shit, are you rich?”

Wade cleared his throat, torn between feeling uncomfortable or amused by Peter’s utter lack of tact when he was high. “Uh, yeah, you could say that.” He guided them towards the elevator bank and pushed the up button. “Payout from the military. For, y’know, this.” He gestured vaguely towards his face, staring up at the glowing numbers above the elevator doors.

“What?” He glanced down in time to watch confusion clear into recognition in Peter’s gorgeous eyes. “Oh. Your skin.” So he had noticed. The confirmation had anxiety stirring in Wade’s chest, though he knew it was stupid to have hoped otherwise. He waited for the pity or mild disgust to cross Peter’s unguarded features, but they never came.

He reached up with his free hand and lightly stroked his fingers down Wade’s cheek. “Does it hurt?” He asked softly.

Wade was stunned into silence for a moment, and unsure how to answer. Because yeah, it hurt like hell and itched like a motherfucker depending on the day and the season and the weather. But he _really_ didn’t want to see pity shining out of those doe eyes, so he settled for a half-hearted shrug. “Sometimes.”

Peter stood on his tiptoes and managed to press a kiss to the underside of Wade’s jaw, leaving him blushing like a teenager. “I think it feels nice.” He whispered, fingertips trailing fire over the skin on the back of Wade’s hand. And he felt like all the breath had been knocked out of him by those five drug-addled words.

The elevator chimed and the doors slid open, and Wade breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled them into the velvet-lined car. 

He should have known better. As soon as he pressed the button for the eighteenth floor and the doors slid shut behind them, Peter had himself plastered against Wade’s front. 

“You like to top?” He murmured seductively, pressing the words into Wade’s throat since he wasn’t tall enough to reach past that. Wade tried not to choke on his own spit, backing up against the elevator wall and pressing his hands to the copper railing to keep himself from doing something inappropriate. It only seemed to encourage Peter, and he was soon rubbing himself up against Wade’s thigh and hip and stomach like a fucking cat, all liquid continuous movement. 

“I hope you do.” Peter murmured heatedly, and when Wade met his eyes he saw the pretty brown of his irises were just thin lines around the vast pools of his pupils. “I really want you to fuck me.”

Wade groaned, knocking his head back against the wall hard enough to hurt. He liked it either way, and he’d really had a preference for bottoming back when he was getting regular action, but if he was being honest, there was nothing he wanted more in that moment than to pick Peter right up and fuck him into the wall.

He was saved by the dull chime and the scrape of the elevator doors as they opened onto his floor.

“Come on.” He practically growled, taking Peter by the arm and maneuvering him down the hall to apartment C. He had the key out and door opened in just a couple of seconds, and he quickly led Peter past his open-concept kitchen and into the spacious living room. He had a couple of leather couches pushed up against the floor to ceiling windows but all he had to do to clear the floor was kick a PS4 controller towards the TV and toss a discarded pair of Hello Kitty pajama pants onto the couch.

He left Peter there in the middle of the dark room, distracted enough with looking around that Wade could avoid being latched onto again. He knelt by the TV and clicked on his stereo system, pulling his phone out of his pocket and plugging it in. He had Röyksopp blasting in record time, and when he glanced up to check on Peter, the boy’s entire face had lit up with excitement. 

His body was already moving, hips swaying rhythmically in time to the music. “This is so good!” He shouted to Wade, grinning as he raised his arms over his head. “I really wanted to dance and I didn’t even know it!” 

Wade smiled in relief, leaving him to feel the music as he stood and crossed into the kitchen. He pulled a Gatorade out of the fridge and gave himself a moment to breath, watching over the counter as Peter slid his hands sensuously down his body, moving in ways that were downright sinful. 

God, he really was a masochist, wasn’t he?

He made his way back into the living room and held the bottled drink out to his guest with an insistent “Drink this.”

Peter took it with a cry of excitement, looking at the Gatorade as if it were a long-lost treasure. “Cool Blue!” He exclaimed. “How did you know this was my absolute favorite?”

Wade chuckled. “Lucky guess.”

Peter cracked the seal, still bobbing to the beat of the song, and spilled a little on Wade’s carpet. “Oops!” He laughed exuberantly, and Wade couldn’t find it in himself to give a fuck about the carpet.

“Drink up!” He urged, nodding encouragingly. He didn’t want Peter to get too dehydrated and wake up with a killer hangover tomorrow. Or worse. It was pretty easy to just go until you collapsed if you took too much ecstasy. Peter chugged more than half the bottle before clumsily handing it back to Wade, and that seemed pretty good for now.

“Dance with me!” He demanded, grabbing Wade’s arms and pulling him close with surprising strength. And then Peter was turning around, guiding Wade’s hands down to land on his hips, and pressing his perfect ass back into Wade’s very interested crotch.

Jesus fuck Peter could grind. And this wasn’t dancing. This was vertical frottage and Wade was going to make an embarrassing mess in his pants if he didn’t remove himself from the situation as soon as possible.

The song came to an end, and Wade quickly disentangled himself before the next one started up. “Keep going.” He told Peter, reaching up to push the hair off his heated forehead. “I want to watch you.”

He smiled at that, a slow, sultry smile, and allowed Wade to sit himself down on one of the couches and pull a Pokémon throw pillow into his lap. 

And watch he did.

Peter really got lost in the music once Wade put Die Antwoord on. He danced like he was at a rave, eyes closed and cheeks a constant rosy pink as he jumped up and down in Wade’s living room. Wade continued to ply him with Gatorade every fifteen to twenty minutes, wary of attempting to feed him any food for fear of making him sick. 

Peter danced through Wade’s limited collection of La Roux and got _really_ into the Kesha tracks, even lip-syncing to a couple of them. He shook his ass to Lady Gaga and jumped around with messy, wild movements while 3OH!3 pounded through Wade’s bass amp, the lead singer shouting out his sexist lyrics to disgustingly catchy tunes. He finally collapsed onto the couch while Underworld turned the apartment into a surreal, timeless warehouse rave. 

Wade waited a few minutes to make sure he was actually passed out before he got up and turned the music off, fading it out so he didn’t startle the poor boy awake. Then he dumped all of the Gatorade bottles in the recycling bin and hung Peter’s discarded jacket in the front hall. 

The sun was beginning to turn the horizon grey with early morning light as Wade carefully, _very_ carefully shifted Peter into his arms and carried him to his bedroom. He tucked him into bed, pulling just the sheet up over his chest so he wouldn’t be too hot, and spent a good long minute staring at his pretty face before he closed the curtains to keep the room dark and slipped back out into the living room. 

He took a deep breath, reeling from the whole evening, and made his way to the guest bathroom to brush his teeth.

And because he was still a human being, and not a very good one at that, he braced himself against the sink while he curled one hand around his desperate cock and jerked himself off with firm, quick strokes until he came all over his fist with a low grunt, imagining Peter’s pretty red lips stretched tight around his shaft.

After cleaning up and checking in on Peter one last time to make sure he was sleeping alright, he tucked his service weapon under a throw pillow and lay down on the larger of his two couches. His feet still hung off the end if he stretched out too much, but it wasn’t terrible.

He was absolutely exhausted, and he wasn’t even the one who’d danced for almost five straight hours. Still, he fell asleep much faster than he normally did, and he dreamt of wild brown hair and big beautiful Bambi eyes.


	3. I Found It Hard, It's Hard to Find

Waking up sort of felt like clawing his way free of a ten-foot sandpit. 

His head pounded. His muscles felt sore. Even his abs ached with a strain he hadn’t felt in years. His throat felt like sand paper and his tongue tasted like he’d eaten jolly ranchers and then something crawled into his mouth and died. His whole body felt heavy, and when he was finally able to force his eyes open, he had to blink them several times in an attempt to see through the hazy film that covered his vision.

“Shit.” Peter croaked under his breath, reaching up with a gritty hand to rub at the inner corners of his eyes. He’d forgotten to take his contacts out before he collapsed into bed, apparently. Not surprising since he didn’t even remember getting home last night.

A powerful yawn wrenched his jaws apart, and when it faded away he let himself lay with his eyes closed, just feeling the blood pulsing behind his forehead and bracing himself to check the time. It took a long few seconds to realize that something didn’t feel quite right.

The bed. It was too comfortable.

The sheets felt soft and silky-smooth against the skin of his arms, and there was a distinct lack of broken springs poking into his back. Not to mention the faint smell of laundry detergent which was very pleasant and very unlike the vaguely damp scent that always seemed to cling to his sheets after he used the old washing machine in the basement. 

It took Peter a few moments to parse out what this meant. 

He sat up with a sharp intake of breath, a jolt of adrenalin giving him the energy to blink furiously until the room around him resolved into solid shapes. It was a big room with heavy red and black curtains pulled over what must have been massive windows on the far wall. There was a soft-looking black throw rug on the hardwood floor and a bookshelf in the corner. The room was sparsely decorated otherwise, just a few movie posters and photographs taped to the walls. A huge closet stood open on his left, with some shoes and clothes thrown messily on the floor in front of it. 

And the bed. The bed was massive. There were black sheets pooled around his waist, the material too soft to be cotton (unless it was some ridiculously high thread count) but not shiny like silk. A dark red comforter was pushed to the bottom of the bed, half falling off onto the floor. 

He quickly groped at his legs through the sheet, relieved to feel that he was still wearing his jeans from the night before. And his t-shirt, though there appeared to be some sort of bluish stain splashed down the front. He ran a hand through his tangled hair with a small groan, trying to ignore the nervous twist in his stomach as he searched his mind for who the hell he went home with last night.

With a deep-seated sense of horror and more than a little disgust, he suddenly remembered Flash Thompson pressing him up against a counter and murmuring dirty things into his ear. 

“Oh god…” He hadn’t done anything with _Flash_ , had he? That had to have been a dream. A nightmare. A really awful nightmare. 

But he knew from the sinking disappointment he felt that it had happened; he’d let Flash Thompson put his hands on him. He suppressed a shiver at the thought, and glanced around the room again. It didn’t _look_ like Flash’s room… He was about ninety-five percent sure the jock didn’t have a poster of A Clockwork Orange on his bedroom wall. He would probably think it was a movie about a middle-school science project. 

Okay, so… Not Flash. He could breathe a sigh of relief with that small reassurance. He had a vague recollection of someone else… Someone tall and big and warm. But…

Ugh. He was thirsty as fuck. 

He pushed the sheets aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, groaning softly at the ache in his muscles that accompanied the movement. His feet didn’t touch the floor when he sat on the edge, so he slid off with a disgruntled huff. The air was chilly. He noticed an unopened bottle of Gatorade sitting on the small bedside table, and made a face at it. Cool Blue was a particularly disgusting flavor. 

He padded towards the closest door, which stood slightly ajar, and tried not to think about the statistical probability of getting murdered. Or kidnapped. Or forced into making some sort of adult film. This didn’t really look like the bedroom of a murderous creep, but who was he to judge? 

He pushed the door open and peered into a spacious, gray-schemed bathroom. The floors and walls were all glossy tile, and the countertop was marbled granite. There was a huge walk in shower _and_ a Jacuzzi tub that looked like it could fit ten full-grown people. He walked straight to the sink and turned on the tap, bending down to drink clear, cold water straight from the faucet. He moaned like a dying man, the liquid soothing his throat and clearing the bad taste from his mouth. His thirst finally sated, he stood straight and took a look in the mirror.

Oh god. He looked like he’d crawled out of the gutter. His eyes were red and irritated, eyelashes clumped together and lips chapped. And his hair… He tried to run his fingers through the wild mess on top of his head, but was unsuccessful in making it look any less like an angry bird had nested in it. He gave up with a resigned sigh, turning to walk back into the bedroom. There was only one other door, so Peter made his way towards it with a sharp bite to his bottom lip, reminding himself not to be a coward because whoever lived here had put him to bed with his clothes on which meant he probably wasn’t dangerous. Hopefully.

A small hallway led out into a spacious living room, and Peter squinted into the sunlight that streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows. He caught sight of a gigantic flat-screen TV mounted on the opposite wall, a plethora of devices, gaming systems and speakers gathered beneath and on either side of it. It was a very, very nice apartment. Peter had never been somewhere so blatantly expensive, except maybe Harry’s penthouse back when they were still friends. 

There was someone lying on the couch, curled up with his back to Peter and his feet hanging off the edge of the leather seat. Familiarity stirred in his chest, especially when he caught sight of the bare, mottled skin on the back of his head.

He padded forward, nervous curiosity making him hesitate for just a moment before reaching out to touch the man gently on the shoulder.

He moved faster than Peter would have thought possible, swinging around in a startling burst of activity, and suddenly there was a gun leveled straight at Peter’s head, the barrel just a few inches from his face.

He stumbled backwards with a squeak of surprise, hands flying instinctually into the air to indicate that he was innocent, harmless, whatever the fuck he was supposed to be in this situation.

“Oh shit!” The man’s blue eyes were widening in surprise as he seemed to register who was standing in front of him. His mouth fell open in a gasp as he quickly tipped the barrel of the pistol up towards the ceiling, flipped something down with his thumb, then let it fell limp in his hand, dangling loosely from one finger hooked through the trigger loop. “Oh fuck I’m so sorry!”

“Holy shit.” Peter dropped one hand to his chest, clutching weakly at the place where his heart was trying to pound its way up out of his throat. He was panting lightly, his whole body feeling shaky from the flood of terror that had washed through his veins.

“It’s not what you think!” The words tumbled frantically from the man’s mouth as he set the gun down carefully on the couch beside him and held his hands up in a placating gesture. “I don’t just go around shooting people, I swear. I mean I do, but just for work. Usually. All the time! Fuck. It’s not what it looks like… I mean, it is. But it’s not. Look, I’m ex-special forces and I work in security, I just, uh, I just need a little extra security you know? And I don’t usually have people in my apartment so you kinda scared the shit outta me. Not that I should have pointed a gun at you. I really shouldn’t. Fuck. I– ”

“Oh my god.” Peter stared with wide eyes as something clicked into place and memories of the night before gained traction in his mind. Both hands flew to his mouth as his stomach sank in mortification. “Oh my _god_ …”

The man flinched slightly, his face twisting into an expression of resigned discomfort. “I guess I’m a little off my rocker, huh? Not playing with a whole set of marbles or box of crayons or however that fucking metaphor goes. Fuck. Sorry.” 

Peter shook his head a little, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment before dropping his hands with a pained noise and crossing his arms over his chest. “No, I… Oh god. I was _all_ over you last night, wasn’t I?” His cheeks felt warm as the memory of hard muscle and hot, rough skin beneath his fingertips flashed through his mind.

A beat passed in silence, as if the man hadn’t expected him to remember. “Oh. Um… Yeah, sort of.” He leaned back into the couch in an intentional way, as if he were trying to seem nonthreatening, and his hands settling on his thighs to pick restlessly at nonexistent threads in his pants. “But don’t worry. I know I’m not much to look at and you were just drugged up anyway, so I kept you hydrated and put you to bed with no funny business when you–”

“I was high?” Peter asked, even more mortified than before. He had never done drugs in his _life_ , even when he and MJ joked about how it was their moral duty to try pot in high school. 

The man – _Wade_ , something in his brain reminded him – looked uncomfortable and kind of angry about it. “Yeah. Some asshole put ecstasy in your drink at a party.”

Peter stared for a moment, then tipped his head back with a frustrated groan, hands clenching into fists at his sides as the overpowering urge to punch something flowed through him. “Fuck. I’m going to _kill_ Flash.”

“You knew that guy?” Wade slid over on the couch to make plenty of room, surreptitiously tucking the handgun under a Pokémon throw pillow as he did so. 

He just sighed, shifting awkwardly on his feet before stepping forward to sit gingerly on the edge of the couch. “He used to bully me in high school.” 

“Oh.” A quick sideways glance showed confusion creasing the skin on Wade’s brow, and a hell of a lot of really, really nice arm muscle straining beneath a ridiculously tight t-shirt. “You uh… You seemed pretty close last night.”

Peter groaned in embarrassment, running his hands over his face as shame made him flush unpleasantly. “A fact which I will never, ever live down.” He assured Wade, then shrugged half-heartedly. “I was just… Lonely, y’know?”

He was afraid to glance at Wade after that admission, afraid to see pity or discomfort in his (fucking beautiful) dark blue eyes. But when he did, Wade was just nodding kindly, actual real-life understanding evident all over his expressive face.

“Yeah, I definitely know.”

A few seconds passed as they looked at each other, suddenly in a different, closer place than they had been just a moment before. Peter’s tongue peaked out to wet his dry lips, and he watched Wade’s eyes flicker down to his mouth. He swallowed, and cleared his throat, glancing down at the ground and breaking the tenuous moment. 

“So, thanks for um… Taking care of me?”

Wade rubbed his hands down the sides of his legs and nodded again. “Yeah, no problem.”

“Sorry I was…” Peter winced at the suddenly vivid memory of pulling Wade’s body close to his as he danced and grinding against him like he was trying to fuck through their clothes. “Molesting you.”

The low, warm chuckle that fell from Wade’s scarred mouth caught him by surprise. “Don’t worry.” He smirked in Peter’s direction, making his pulse jump a little. “I definitely wasn’t complaining.”

“Oh.” His cheeks felt distinctly hotter, and he averted his eyes as he hazily recalled the long, hot line that he’d felt pressing through Wade’s jeans the night before. He cleared his throat. “Um, good.”

Wade grunted. “Sorry. That came out much creepier than intended.”

He let out a huff of laughter. “No, it’s fine. Makes me feel better about getting all handsy.”

The flash of white teeth from between Wade’s lips as he smiled sort of made the air leave Peter’s lungs. “Well good. I’m just sorry you ended up with _this_ ,” He gestured loosely towards himself, “As your scratching post for the night.”

Peter blinked, his brow creasing and lips pursing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Wade’s stare was blank. “You know.” He gestured towards his face this time, then glanced at his hands, and tucked them awkwardly under his thighs. “My skin.”

He looked closer, letting his gaze slide over Wade’s bald head and mottled face. The skin looked tight and uncomfortable, like it had been torn up and melted back together and stretched a little too far over sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline. His neck, collar, and bare arms were covered in the scars, too. Maybe his whole body was. But…

“But you’re like, really hot.” Peter stated, running his fingers absently through his messy hair. “I mean… You’re tall and strong and your arms are…” He made an appreciative sound, bottom lip catching between his teeth as his eyes skimmed over those bulging biceps. “Your eyes are gorgeous and your voice is… Fuck. You’re nice and a good guy. I mean, you could’ve taken advantage of me last night and you didn’t and… Um, yeah.”

Wade was staring at him like he’d just sprouted a second head, and Peter was starting to realize that he probably sounded a little over the top. 

He clapped his hands together. “Great. So now that I’ve made a complete fool of myself…” He stood up, looking around the room as he realized he didn’t have his shoes or jacket on him. “I’ll just, um, let myself out.”

“No!” He glanced back at Wade, flustered and lost in the center of his spacious living room, and was caught by surprise all over again by the open, awed look on his face. “You don’t have to go. I mean…” He stood, unfolding his body from the couch, and Peter had forgotten just how big he really was. He laughed self-consciously, reaching a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. “Of course you can go whenever you want to, just… Uh, breakfast? You want something to eat? I didn’t feed you last night.”

“Oh.” Peter fumbled with the bottom of his shirt, glancing down at the carpet and back up at Wade again. Was this… Flirting? He didn’t have much experience with these things. Regardless, his stomach was cramping with hunger and a glass of water would do wonders for his head. “Sure, I guess.”

Wade offered him a glowing half-smile that turned his insides to mush. “Great.” He strode forward and Peter turned as he passed by, the warmth of his skin just inches away. He circled around a granite-topped counter and started to wash his hands in the sink. Peter followed slowly, pausing to rest one hip against the counter. 

“Do you have cereal?” He was accustomed to one hearty bowl of honey-touched O’s (the grocery’s generic version of Cheerios) every morning. He’d even eat it without milk, since sometimes he ran out between the meager paychecks from his part-time job at the newspaper.

He received an affronted look for his request as Wade dried his hands on a Sailor Moon dish towel. “Fuck no, Petey. You need protein and carbs after the night you had. I’m making you a proper Canadian breakfast.”

Peter couldn’t stifle the pleased smile that spread across his mouth; it had been ages since he’d had a hot breakfast. “Well, I guess that’d be okay.”

Wade just snorted. “It’ll be more than okay, you little punk. I’ll have your mouth watering in no time.”

Peter’s gaze trailed unbidden down the hard lines of Wade’s body as he strode to the stainless-steel fridge and pulled it open, and he couldn’t help but think that Wade _already_ had his mouth watering. He watched as he started pulling things out and setting them on the counter, quickly identifying the ingredients for pancakes and bacon. His stomach rumbled.

“Here.” Wade was holding out a bottle of blue Gatorade, and Peter made a face at it.

“No thanks. I hate Gatorade.”

For some reason, Wade threw his head back and laughed at that. The sound of it made Peter feel warm all over, but he arranged an affronted expression onto his face.

“What? It’s designed to replace the minerals you lose when you sweat. It _tastes_ like sweat.”

Wade just shook his head, still chuckling. “I don’t disagree, it’s just… Ah, nothing. Here, then.” He tucked the bottle back into the fridge and tossed Peter a small orange juice instead. He fumbled it, but managed not to drop it on the floor.

“Thanks.” He cracked the seal and took a drink, downing half the bottle in one go, and watched as Wade pulled out a couple of frying pans and turned on his fancy oven. He slid a knife from a wooden block on the counter and expertly slit open the package of bacon, then caught each slice between the blade and the pad of his thumb, laying them out side by side in the slightly smaller pan. “You’re good at that.” He commented.

Wade flashed him another one of those pretty half-smiles. “Yeah. I used to mouth off a lot at the military academy. Ended up with weeks on kitchen duty, so I figured I might as well know what I was doing.”

He left the bacon to start sizzling and opened a cabinet that Peter wouldn’t have been able to reach on his tiptoes, pulling out a large mixing bowl and an electric whisk. He began to dump in ingredients without measuring, and then Peter was _really_ impressed. He was cracking eggs on the edge of the counter and emptying them one-handed into the bowl before tossing the shells in one half of his double-sink when he spoke again.

“I think you’re really hot too, you know.” His voice was low and soft, but rang with an earnestness that made Peter’s heart skip.

“Huh?”

He glanced over one shoulder, and the hungry burning look in his eyes had a whine catching in Peter’s throat. “You’re the sexiest, cutest thing to ever stumble into my life.”

Then he turned his back again, reached out to plug the whisk in, and started mixing pancake batter with a low buzzing hum like he hadn’t just turned Peter’s world upside down.

He stared at the tall, scarred man wearing a white t-shirt and hot pink Hello Kitty pajama pants, and he wondered if maybe this was what it felt like to fall in love with someone. Or whatever sort of white-hot stomach-melting sort of crush eventually led to love. Because it had been a while, but the giddy pounding of his pulse and the shaky thrill that ran along his skin sure made it feel like _something_ was happening, and he really wanted to touch him. Just something innocent, like his hand. Just to feel like he was really there and this was really happening because he _wanted_ Peter, and Peter really wanted him too. And that, like, never happened to him.

He set his orange juice down on the counter and carefully made his way across the kitchen. He paused beside Wade, hand a little shaky as he reached out to brush his fingers against one scarred, muscled forearm.

Wade jerked in surprise, spattering pancake batter over the counter and Peter’s arm. 

“Oh shit, sorry! Here.” He pulled the whisk out of the bowl without turning it off, and even more batter was flung through the air, splattering all over Peter and the front of Wade’s shirt. “Oh, fuck! Motherfucking shit.” He held the still-spinning device pointed away from them both and frantically yanked at the cord until it came out of the wall. “Oh my fucking god.”

Peter winced, glancing helplessly at the batter on his arm. He had felt some hit his face, and with his luck it would probably be in his hair, too. “Sorry.”

“No, no!” Wade shook his head emphatically, throwing the whisk down in the sink and reaching around Peter to fumble for a dishtowel. “Totally my fault. Shit. I got it all over you and – Fuck, my shirt, too. Hell, I should – ” 

“You should probably take it off.”

“Put on a jacket anyways. And…” He trailed off, going still as he stared into Peter’s eyes. He had stepped in close, one hand cupping the back of Peter’s head to hold him still and the other gently wiping at his cheek with the dishtowel. Peter had gotten his fingers tangled in the bottom of Wade’s t-shirt somehow, frozen in the middle of an aborted movement to help him take it off. 

They were standing very, very close together.

The air felt hot all of a sudden, and Peter was almost sure that his heart was beating loud enough to hear it. Wade’s eyes were so deep and so blue, and there was something so intense about the way he was looking at Peter. Like he was looking at something fascinating and precious and unexpected.

Wade’s eyes flickered down to his lips. Slowly, so very slowly, he gently dabbed at the corner of Peter’s mouth with the towel, presumably wiping away a spot of batter. When their eyes met again, his gaze was heated beneath hooded lids.

“Wade.” The name came out much more breathless than he’d intended, and something lurched behind his navel when he watched Wade’s pupils constrict slightly before expanding outwards. 

There was a hitch in Wade’s breath like he was holding back a noise. “Oh fuck.”

His fingers flexed in Peter’s hair, pulling lightly at the tangled strands, and Peter’s head tipped back with a light whine. 

“Oh _fuck_.” Wade repeated on a helpless breath of sound, and then his lips were catching on Peter’s, pressing so soft and hot and insistent against his mouth. 

And Peter felt like he was fucking high again as his eyes slid shut, light and giddy and electric all over. Wade dropped the towel and then his hand was on Peter’s skin, fingers splayed over his cheek and thumb tucked under the line of his jaw, like he was holding Peter in place while he kissed him. And fucking _hell_ could he kiss. The movement of his mouth had Peter weak at the knees, and it was with shaky, stumbling steps that he let Wade back him up against the countertop and press him there. 

It was all he could do to tug restlessly at the bottom of Wade’s shirt, taking short, breathy gasps of air between the easy rhythm of their kisses. And when he let his tongue flick out to swipe at Wade’s bottom lip, the low groan he got in return went _straight_ to his dick. 

Wade’s fist tightened in his hair and he pulled Peter’s head back further, breaking their kiss to trail blazing, spit-slick kisses down his neck. “You don’t wanna get involved with me, Peter.” He mumbled the rough words into the skin of his collar, sending hot chills down his spine. “I’m like, really really fucked up.”

“Me, too.” Peter gasped into the air, eyelashes fluttering as he ran his hands down the back of Wade’s shoulders, feeling the tight coil of muscle beneath skin. 

Wade straightened up to look him in the eyes, and Peter bit back a whimper of complaint at the loss of his mouth on him, but he didn’t stop touching Peter. The hand not tangled in his hair slid down his collar, chest, waist, squeezing lightly at one hip, thumb swiping over the protrusion of his hipbone, and slipping back to rub warm circles along his lower back. Peter’s body couldn’t tell whether it wanted to shiver or melt, and settled for something in between.

But Wade’s gaze was serious. “I pointed a _gun_ at you.” 

Peter swallowed. “I saw my uncle get shot when I was fifteen.” He grabbed fistfuls of the back of Wade’s shirt and tried his hardest to pull the larger man back into him. 

He fell against Peter with a muffled grunt, dipping his head to bury his face in the mess of brown hair. “I’m older than you.”

“How old are you?” Peter asked petulantly, rubbing his nose along the line of Wade’s collar bone.

“Thirty-one.”

He laughed breathily. “And I’m twenty-two. That’s nothing.” Wade pulled back a few inches to look at him, the apprehension in his expression not quite enough to drown out the hunger in his eyes. Peter trailed one hand over Wade’s chest, a moan crawling up his throat when he felt how fucking hard Wade’s pec was beneath his palm. “But if you’re preoccupied by it…” He looked up at Wade from beneath his eyelashes. “You know, I could just call you Daddy.”

“Fuck _me_ …” Wade bent down to hook his hands around the backs of Peter’s thighs and _lifted_ him straight up onto the counter. Peter’s squeak of surprise was muffled beneath the press of Wade’s mouth as he kissed him with enough urgency to make his toes curl. The slide of his tongue against Peter’s was overwhelming and wet and so fucking hot that he couldn’t have told you his own birthdate if you asked for it.

Wade was pressing in between his thighs and he was so _big_ , surrounding Peter on all sides, strong arms wrapped tight around his waist, his spine arching as the force of Wade’s kiss tipped him back. And when their hips finally pressed together, the thick line of Wade’s erection sliding up his inner thigh and glancing off his own constricted cock with a brilliant flash of pleasure, he cried out into the wet heat of Wade’s mouth.

The older man nipped at his tongue with a low sort of growl that sent a pulse of heat through Peter’s gut, and rolled his hips down against Peter’s in one slow, firm movement. Peter choked on a strangled moan, his fingers shaking where they clutched desperately at Wade’s shirt. 

Wade broke their kiss with a groan, hunching over to bury his face in the spot where neck met shoulder. Peter tried to shift his hips up into his, chasing the delicious friction, but Wade gripped his hip in one big hand and held him down against to countertop.

“Really, Pete.” His voice was strained. “I’m not a good guy to be around. I have issues. Lots of ‘em.”

Peter took rapid, uneven gulps of air and blinked up at the ceiling through the haze in his mind, trying to focus on something other than the hotlineofWade’sbodyohmygod. “Like what?”

“Well, besides the Swiss cheese skin…” He trailed off for a moment, took a deep breath, and lifted his head. “I’ve killed a lot of people. And that was before I got taken prisoner, tortured for three months, and blown up.”

Peter blinked at him, processing that for just a moment. He raised one hand to gently stroke his fingers down the rough skin over Wade’s cheek. “Three months ago my best friend killed my other best friend slash ex-girlfriend in a drunk driving accident and then called me from the car and I had to watch them pry her out even though she was already broken.”

There was a moment of silence, and he watched the weight of that admission settle into the blue of Wade’s eyes. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

The muscles of Wade’s throat constricted as he swallowed. “I have PTSD.”

“I have moderate to severe anxiety.”

“I want to bite your perfect mouth and buy you nice things.”

Peter felt like he might be melt into a pile of hot goo and never be human again. “Yes please.”

Wade dipped down to plant a sharp little bite on Peter’s bottom lip, dragging a filthy moan up his throat, and hauled Peter forward into the tight press of his hips once again. 

And then Wade’s tongue was in his mouth and his hands were sliding up beneath the loose edge of his t-shirt, trailing liquid fire over the planes of his waist, and they fell into a messy sort of rhythm as Wade rocked down against him and Peter hooked one leg around Wade’s muscular thigh, trying to get more leverage to push up into the movement. He was gasping for breath whenever he got a moment between the insistent swipes of Wade’s tongue, and the pleasure twisting beneath his navel was tight and hot and – 

Something was burning.

“Wade.” Peter managed the name on a breathy groan, letting his head fall back to expose his throat and break their kiss, a thin line of saliva still strung between their mouths as Wade tried to follow his lips. “Your bacon is burning.”

“You bet it is.” He growled, attaching his mouth to Peter’s extended neck and _sucking_.

Peter gasped, feeling the small, dark kiss of a bruise blooming beneath his pale skin. “No, I… I mean… Fuck.”

Wade pulled back with a grunt, swiping his tongue over the mark before untangling himself from around Peter’s body. “I know.” 

He only leaned away long enough to shove the pan off its burner before he was back, kissing Peter again like it had been _years_ and he wanted to eat him alive. He fell into it, twining his arms around Wade’s neck and pressing in close, relishing in the smoldering friction of their bodies sliding together. Even through his jeans and Wade’s Hello Kitty pants, he could feel the size and shape and sheer hardness of Wade’s cock pressing up against his. He felt flushed all over and out of his mind, the pressure building faster than he could keep pace with.

“Wade, it… It’s um…” He tried to begin a couple of times and the delicious, hungry press of Wade’s mouth wasn’t letting him get the words out. He finally planted one hand on Wade’s sculpted chest and shoved, successfully separating their mouths only for Wade to trail his lips down the side of his neck again.

“It’s… Been a while…” He panted out. He would have felt embarrassed saying so to anyone else, but Wade was moving like he couldn’t stop. Like he _needed_ Peter. “If you… Oh fuck. If you keep doing… T-that.” Wade punctuated one particularly forceful roll of his hips with a small bite to Peter’s collar bone. “I’m… I’m gonna…”

Wade growled into his skin, slid one hand up the back of Peter’s thigh to grab a handful of his ass, and yanked their hips together. “I know.” He managed, voice rough and tight and _wrecked_. “Me too.”

His mouth found Peter’s again, nudging his jaw apart to shove their tongues together, and his thrusts turned short and hard and frantic. Peter wrapped both legs around Wade’s waist and clung to him, shaking as he fought not to fall completely apart. Every breath was an uncontrollable burst of sound, pleas and little cries of pleasure filling the impossibly hot kitchen as he climbed closer and closer to release.

His head fell back, unable to maintain their kiss anymore. “Oh fuck, Wade!” 

Wade grunted, grip tightening, and thrust against him so hard that Peter saw stars behind his eyelids. Then he felt Wade’s cock pulsing against his, hips jerking forward in shallow, uneven jolts as he came.

Peter tipped over the edge with a choked off whimper, his whole body shaking as pleasure spread like an impossibly warm wave through every inch of his body.

They came down panting, Wade’s breath hot and damp against his neck, and it took Peter a while to remember how to open his eyes. “Oh… My god…”

“Yeah.” Wade agreed, carefully releasing his grip (Peter was definitely going to have bruises tomorrow and wasn’t that the hottest fucking thing?) and planting his hands on the countertop. He pulled back a little, separating their hips with a soft hiss of discomfort. His eyes slid down Peter’s body from the top of his head to the prominent wet spot on the front of his jeans. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” 

Peter felt his whole face turn red, and he pulled his kiss-swollen bottom lip between his teeth as he looked down shyly. “Shut up.” He mumbled.

Wade’s laugh was loud and clear, like bells, and it made something in Peter’s stomach flip over in excitement. “Oh, man… Guess I really ruined breakfast, huh?” He stepped back a little to look around at the mess they’d made.

“I liked this better.” Peter stated as he slid down off the counter, wincing as the cooling wetness in his boxers shifted unpleasantly. 

Wade laughed again, glancing at him like he Peter had caught him by surprise. “Me too.” His eyes were running down the lines of Peter’s body once more, and he had to suppress a shiver as he felt the gaze like a physical touch. “Let’s get you outta those clothes, hm?”

Peter flushed all over again. “Uh, o-okay.”

Wade’s grin was both comforting and a bit lecherous. “Come on.” He gestured back towards the hall where his bedroom lay. “I think I’ve got some boxers we can safety pin around your tiny little waist.”

He did indeed, and even though they were briefs they were still baggy and fell almost to Peter’s knees. Peter was self-conscious, not because he was wearing boxers as shorts, but because they were printed with suggestive images of Misty from Pokémon. Wade thought he looked cute though, so maybe it wasn’t so bad.

Wade finally did finish making breakfast, and Peter discovered that he made the _best_ fucking pancakes in the world. He only used authentic Canadian maple syrup and he insisted on sitting Peter on the counter and feeding him at least half of the bites off his own fork. It was sappy and disgustingly cute and Peter blushed way too easily, but it was… Unbelievably nice. Like a fairy tale.

When the clock on the microwave read six in the evening and Peter mentioned that he had to leave for his weekly dinner with his aunt, Wade’s face fell.

“Right, well… Yeah. This has been, you know. Really great.”

They were sitting on Wade’s leather couch, Peter’s legs thrown over his lap, and he laughed as he leaned forward to rest his forehead on Wade’s shoulder. “And we should do it again sometime? That’s the line, right?”

“Oh, um… I mean, yeah. If you wanted to.”

Peter pulled back to look at him, eyebrows raised at the hesitant tone of Wade’s voice. “Don’t you want to?”

“Of course!” He rushed to correct the misconception, blue eyes almost comically wide and earnest. “You’re incredible, Peter. I’d fucking love to see you again. I just meant, like… You shouldn’t feel like you have to hang around just because I was a decent guy last night.”

Peter scoffed in disbelief. “Wade. I didn’t just stick around here all day because you’re a _decent guy_. I like you.” He chuckled slightly, mouth curving up into a smile. “And we already know the sex is great.

Wade raised one eyebrow, and Peter rolled his eyes.

“Okay, it was really great when you fucked me half to death with your pants on and I’m sure all the other stuff would be amazing, too.”

Wade grinned. “That’s better.”

“So.” Peter swung his legs to the floor and hopped to his feet, making his way to the kitchen to collect his phone and wallet from the counter. “You should call me. Or, you know, text like people tend to do these days.” He crossed to the fridge and used the little magnetized marker to scrawl his number across the dry-erase board that hung there. He threw a grin over his shoulder. “We should do this again sometime.”

Wade stood and followed him, bracing one hip against the countertop and folding his drool-worthy arms over his equally drool-worthy chest. “You want me to rescue you from an attempted date-rape and take you home to dance the night away again?”

Peter turned to him with a breathless smile. “How about like a date?”

Wade blinked at him. “Like a date?”

“Yeah. Is that okay?”

Wade nodded seriously. “That’s perfect.”

“Good.” Peter tied his jacket around his waist to hide his boxer/shorts as much as he feasibly could and let Wade walk him to the door.

“You better call me.” He demanded as he stood on his tiptoes to plant a lingering kiss on Wade’s cheek. “Because if you don’t… Well, I know where you live.” He backed towards the door with a flash of a smile. “Or I will. When I get outside and figure out what street we’re on.”

Wade laughed. “Don’t worry.” He opened the door and guided Peter out with a big, warm hand on his lower back. “I’ll put those digits to good use.”

Peter left the building in a fog, unable to wipe the wide, dopy grin off his face. When he stepped out onto the sidewalk, his phone was already buzzing in his pocket. He pulled it out to see a text from an unknown number. It was an address.

_**in case u forget. I heard ur not 2 great w/ building #s ;)** _

Peter laughed, already typing out a response as he walked towards the subway stop on the corner. 

He decided that going to that stupid party last night might be the best bad decision he had ever made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After all, you're my wonderwall.


End file.
